I felt a cold, deep exhaustion that settled into my bones.

As I reached the intersection, the screen on my dashboard lit up.

An incoming call from Arthur Vance.

I did not answer it.

I let it ring until it went to voicemail, then watched the screen go dark.

Three minutes later, another notification appeared.

It was a text message from an unknown number, but I recognized the tone immediately.

“Clara, we need to talk before you go home. Arthur is calling an emergency meeting.”

I deleted the message and kept driving toward the quiet streets of our neighborhood.

The houses here were large, surrounded by manicured lawns and tall oak trees.

Everything looked peaceful, ordered, and expensive.

I pulled into our driveway and shut off the engine.

The silence returned, but this time, it felt different.

The house sat before me, a beautiful shell of a life I had spent fifteen years building.

I sat in the driver’s seat for a moment, waiting for my hands to warm up.

The dashboard screen lit up again.